A bullet curtailed the
popular Philadelphia junior lightweight's
career in 1977 at age 24, and he was buried
in an unmarked plot at Eden Cemetery.

But then John DiSanto, a
South Jersey resident and lifelong fight
fan, decided he couldn't rest with one of
his heroes interred in anonymity.

DiSanto, who runs the Web
site Phillyboxinghistory.com, spent $1,500
of his own money to buy a headstone for
Everett's grave. The headstone was installed
last month.

Now DiSanto is raising
money to buy markers for the graves of other
Philadelphia-area boxers so time doesn't
steal their legacies.

"It bothers me that a lot
of guys are out there in their final resting
place and they'll b forgotten once their
immediate families are gone," DiSanto, 43,
said last week during a visit to Everett's
gravesite, just outside Philadelphia.

DiSanto, a Web designer
who lives in Mantua, believes there are
dozens of Philadelphia boxers buried without
a proper marker. Some of them died destitute
and alone or their families couldn't afford
a headstone, DiSanto said.

Once a year, DiSanto will
use the money he raises to buy a headstone
for a deceased fighter and hold a public
memorial service.

DiSanto said that the
next recipient of a gravestone will be
"Gypsy" Joe Harris, a Camden-born
welterweight whose unorthodox style made him
a fan favorite.

Harris was forced to
retire at the peak of his career in the
1960s after doctors discovered he was blind
in his right eye from a childhood injury.

Harris died in poverty in
1990 at age 44. He is buried in an unmarked
grave at Merion Memorial Park in Bala
Cynwyd, PA, DiSanto said.

DiSanto said the fund
also will be used to help needy families buy
gravestones for boxers who die in coming
years.

While they may not have
been household names outside the boxing
world, tough local fighters such as Everett
and Harris made a permanent impression on
DiSanto.

Everett was a slick,
handsome southpaw from South Philadelphia.
Nicknamed "The Mean Machine", he fought his
way up to a world title shot.

On November 30, 1976, he
battled Alfredo Escalera for the World
Boxing Council 130-pound title before a
sellout hometown crowd at the Spectrum in
Philadelphia.

Everett lost a close
15-round decision. Many ringside observers
thought he won the fight and a near-riot
ensued after the ring announcer read the
judge's scorecards.

He fought for the last
time on the under card of the Muhammad
Ali-Alfredo Evangelista bout at the Capital
Centre in Landover, Md. on May 16, 1977.
Everett scored a fourth-round knockout of
Delfino Rodriguez.

Ten days later, Everett's
girlfriend shot him in the face with a rifle
during a domestic dispute inside her South
Philadelphia home, police said. She was
later convicted of his murder.

Everett had four children
and a fifth was born after he died. He had
been in negotiations for a rematch against
Escalera when he was killed.

DiSanto never met Everett
and has only seen him fight on tape.

As he compiled
information for his Web site two years ago,
DiSanto visited Everett's grave to pay his
respects.

"I'm walking around and
I'm thinking, where's the stone?" DiSanto
recalled. "It wasn't there. It was just
grass."

He eventually tracked
down Everett's mother, Doris, in South
Philadelphia and offered to buy a headstone
for her son's grave.

"I was surprised," Doris
Everett recalled in an interview last week.
"I was overwhelmed. There's not many people
who would do that."

Doris Everett said that
as a single mother of five boys, she didn't
have the money to buy a gravestone for her
oldest child.

Tyrone Everett's brother,
Mike, a junior welterweight contender of the
1970s, said that when his mother visited the
cemetery a few years ago, she couldn't find
her son's grave.

"It hurt me too that he
didn't have a headstone," Mike Everett said.
"Now she can go out there and know where he
is."

At a banquet honoring
Philadelphia fighters last month, Mike
Everett presented DiSanto with a trophy
originally given to Tyrone Everett when he
won the North American Boxing Federation
junior lightweight championship in 1976.

"He's part of my family
now," Mike Everett said of DiSanto.

His brother, he said,
would be thrilled to know he's still
remembered - and revered - by die-hards like
DiSanto.

"I think right now, if
he's looking down on us," Mike Everett said,
"he's happy for that kind of fan."

________________________________________________

Tim Zatzariny wrote
this article for the Courier Post. It was
originally printed in that newspaper in January 2006.